Cannibalistic Moon
by DovieLR
Summary: Snape has an unwelcome nighttime visitor.


Two beams of silvery light spilt in through the gap in his curtains, rending the otherwise pitch darkness of his room. They fell in perfect, uninterrupted lines from the windowsill and across the floor to climb up across the coverlet at the foot of his bed. He had tried to pull the curtains fully closed, because the last thing he wanted to think about tonight was the full moon.

Sixteen straight hours of meticulous work to prepare that damned potion. All the aconite chopped to exactly the right size. A solid hour of stirring twice clockwise followed by stirring five times anti-clockwise. One thousand six hundred and eighty stirs in all, whilst trying not to lose count. Seven chrysalides transfigured into caterpillars after precisely two hours, twenty-three minutes, and four seconds of simmering. And still no guarantees that the blasted concoction would even work. What if the beast was up there in its office right now, shredding the door to splinters with its fangs and claws in an attempt to get out and feast on the students?

Movement at his feet caught his eye. His gaze immediately snapped to the only source of light in the room: the moonbeams illuminating his comforter. They began to rotate slowly, chasing each other through the air in a laborious waltz. Entranced, he watched as the tempo gradually increased until they had melded into a continuous spinning blur of white. Soon after the speed slackened again, enough to distinguish the intricately carved silver knife and fork they had become.

When they slowed to a near stop, two hands plucked them from the air—hands poking out from the sleeves of patched, darned, and very frayed robes. A chair's legs then scraped across the stone floor, coming to rest near the head of his bed. He tried to turn his face to look, but he couldn't move.

"I'd like to thank you again for making that potion for me, Severus," said a mild voice, dropping in elevation as it sat down.

No, no, no. This was wrong. How could the beast be here? Shouldn't it be spell-locked inside its office? How could it have got past the headmaster's wards? He knew he had to get away, but his body froze in place in his bed, rigid prey simply there for the taking.

A stabbing pain seared his throat.

"This has been the nicest full moon I can remember in a long time."

Its voice was light and conversational, as if they were sitting down to dinner in the Great Hall. Though he couldn't move himself, his whole head began to jerk as the beast sawed into his neck, adding new agony on top of the already intense stabbing pain. Finally the motion stopped, and the knife blade clinked against the tines as it drew the fork away.

"You can't imagine what a relief it was not to transform for once."

Another clink of metal on metal and the jerking resumed as the fork returned to carve another bite-sized chunk out of his neck.

"Once a month every month since the age of four."

Its voice sounded thicker now as it talked around the bite in its mouth. A pause as it swallowed.

"It really becomes quite tedious, you know."

Another bite removed in burning fire.

"And the indigestion the next day is almost intolerable."

It paused to swallow again, and then began excising more of his neck.

"I much prefer to savour my meals."

Clink, saw, pain.

"Mmmm ... this is delicious. You're really quite good, you know, Severus."

Clink, saw, pain.

"If James had known what a treat he'd been denying me, he might not have interfered."

Clink, saw, pain.

"Would you like a taste?"

Something wet brushed against his lips, smearing them will still-warm blood.

"No? Well, all right. I'm not sure I'd want to share anyway."

It moved the bit of flesh away, back to its own mouth, and spoke again whilst chewing.

"I daresay you don't know what you're missing."

Clink, saw, pain.

"Are you sure you won't have a bite?"

Another portion of his neck touched his lips, but this time somehow they'd parted, and the metallic flavour of his own blood flooded his mouth, as the rubbery consistency that was uncooked flesh dropped onto his tongue. Snape sat upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest. His hand went immediately to his throat, which was—thankfully—still intact. He exhaled slowly and got out of bed. In his desk he found what he wanted almost immediately.

"Bloody werewolf," he muttered as he uncorked the vial and raised it to his lips. The bitter tang of a Dreamless Sleep Draught would be quite welcome on his palate tonight.


End file.
